Tidbits Here and There
by ImXDragon
Summary: A random, sporadic one-shot series for all those little stories that need a place to go. Rated T just in case.
1. Going to Sleep

**A/N:**

**I know, I've got other stories to write...but everyone needs a place to stick all of their random little plot bunny stories, right?**

**Please enjoy. **

The thunder shook the very sky as it crashed; the rain poured silently onto the grassy field. The wind whipped hard in its wild dance, abusing the stalks of grass that were trying so hard to stay upright in their own miniscule glory.

Sherlock Holmes gazed up at the dark grey clouds that brewed above him. He didn't even wince when the lightning split the waning darkness. He let rain-heavy grass cradle him and form around his body. He felt as if he was sinking into the wet dirt and dripping stalks.

The harsh weather was throwing everything it had on him, and he just lied there silently, taking everything in. Besides, he wouldn't be able to move, even if he should desire to.

And as Sherlock Holmes endured the elements, he felt his life slowly ebbing away. The bullet hole in his chest carelessly continued in letting his blood, his life, seep from his body.

The grass became burdened with his blood.

The thunder was laughing at his weakness.

The wind was taunting him.

But he felt nothing.

Nothing but pain.

And a longing for something unknown...

There was something...some_one _that he wanted. But who? But what? He couldn't think...

His mind was leaving him in bitter betrayal.

There was nothing he could do now, except to listen.

The thunder's roar and the wind's howl became like a sweet melody, so pleasing to the ears.

It was like a calming lullaby...

The grass hugged close to his body, doing its best to keep him warm.

Like a blanket...

The dark clouds covered the setting sun. The lightning would flash, bringing unwanted light, but the soothing darkness would always come again...

He closed his eyes as the world put him to sleep...

**A/N:**

**Geeze, I'm depressive right now...**

**How many times have I killed Holmes? Three times? Four times? I'm a murderer XD**

**Reviews are amazing! :D**


	2. Forever

**A/N:**

**This is a little tidbit I found in the deep bowels of my forgotten documents. I believe this is Watson's PoV after WWI**

OoOoOoO

Young men swept their wives closer

Fathers cradled their children in their arms

The war had reached its end

The joy was felt everywhere

The praise was seen in tears and salutes

The relief was evident in hearty laughter

He wanted to join in the warmth of the moment

But a sudden realization had struck him

Four years had changed London

Four years of war had changed his home

He felt unstable

He felt unsure

It did not feel the same

The air seemed heavy

The air felt thick

What had changed?

He was lost

He was confused

Why did it seem so different?

The crowds thinned

The unfamiliar faces turned away

Then he saw _him_

He saw his anchor among the crowd

He instantly regained his bearing

The unfamiliar world around him no longer mattered

The world around him dimmed

His friend stood out like a beacon

He hadn't changed at all

They were the last of a dying age

They were two companions who looked to each other to remember

To remember the adventures

To remember the life they had lived

They would never change

They would stay the same

For each other

Forever


	3. Paradox

"Thousands of people," Holmes said out of the blue on a typical summer day. I looked up from the day's paper to see my companion draped over the armrests of his chair like a ragdoll.

It was one of _those _days. A day in which boredom caught up with Sherlock Holmes, and left him to mutter and groan in the shadows of a dark depression. Rather, a black mood.

"What was that?" I asked, marking my place in my book and setting it aside.

"Thousands of people...Thousands of people crammed in a small space, and not a _single _case is brought to my attention...in days! All those thousands of people, ripe and ready for crime, are quietly living their boring little lives...I feel like I am drowning in the Fountain of Eternal Life..."

Normally I would just listen; let him vent. But his last sentence arrested my attention...

"Wait," I contemplated, "Drowning in the Fountain of Life? How does that make any sense?"

"It is a paradox; it isn't suppose to make sense. That is my point: Thousands of people, and not a single attractive crime; it doesn't make sense."

"I suppose I see your point." Then a sudden idea occurred to me, to pull Holmes from his black mood. I needed to get his brain working.

"I walked into that conversation blindly," I said, "After all, I should not go into the water, until I know how to swim."

"What?" Holmes asked, sitting up in his armchair, suddenly looking interested. "But how will you learn to swim if you do not enter the water?" His eyes lit up as he attempted to wrap his brain around it.

"It is a paradox," I say, rather pleased he took interest.

He opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short when we heard the wheels of a hansom rattling outside and stopping by our door.

"A client?" I ask.

"Possible..." Holmes said, obviously growing excited, but willing himself to contain it.

"Speaking of possibilities," I say, "If everything is possible, is it possible for something to be impossible?"

He was taken aback.

"Quite possibly..."

OoOoOoO

**Just a little plot bunny that hit me today. :3**

**Did you know I love reviews? They make my day!**


	4. True Love

**A/N:**

**I apologize for the delay. It seems Summer is not as relaxing as one would think. ;)**

OoOoOoO

Mary Watson sat gazing blankly at a page in one of her husband's sailor novels. John had run off on another case with Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He would return home exhausted, and would barely be able to utter a word of love or greeting before he would crawl into bed and fall asleep. Then he would rise early the next morning to go to his practice.

She had been trying to wait for John to return, and had been looking over several different novels to pass the time. But each novel presented no interest to an anxious mind. She knew from past nightly waitings that anything could happen while John was with Mr. Holmes. Sometimes, he would come home cut and bruised. Other times he would have broken bones.

And sometimes, it would be Mr. Holmes who was hurt. John would give many apologies, and say that he needed to spend the night in Baker Street to watch over his friend. Mary would say it was alright, urging her husband to go to his friend. She would wait until he left to let out her subdued disappointment and worry.

And Mary knew by the length of this outing, that one of the two, or both, had been hurt. John's medical bag had been set out by the front door. She had also taken the liberty to pack a change of clothes and his various hygiene products for him. Now all she could do was wait...

Sure enough, a few minutes after the clock had struck one in the morning, Mary's exhausted husband came through the door. She was relieved to see that he didn't appear to be hurt.

"Mary," he started, spotting her with eyes mixed with love and urgence. Mary got to her feet and met him before he could finish.

"Your bags are on the floor beside you. Give my best wishes to Mr. Holmes."

He seemed taken aback, and somewhat relieved.

"Thank you."

Mary smiled and planted a kiss on his cheek, "I love you."

"I love you too!"

And Mary watched as her husband picked up the bags, and was on his way.

However much that man worried her, she would always love him.


	5. Better

**A/N:**

**I apologize for the shortness .**

**But...you know...those darn plot bunnies. ;)**

OoOoOoO

His instincts, and his sense of alertness and expectation was something to behold.

But he hadn't seen this coming...

He was always praised for his keen eyes and sharp sense of observation.

But if he had been more observant...

All was in awe of his iron will.

But where was that now?

Foes were brought to their limits when fighting against him; they were battles easily won.

But this was one of those rare times when he had not been successful...

Sherlock Holmes was the best in his field. He was stronger, faster, smarter, and more determined than all others.

But if he had been even better...

If he had been better, he would not be sitting next to Watson's deathbed.


End file.
